


knock knock

by writedeku



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Telepathy, Anxiety Attacks, Character Analysis, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, Kageyama Tobio Needs a Hug, M/M, Poetic Descriptions of People's Minds, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, past trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-05
Updated: 2017-09-05
Packaged: 2018-12-24 10:59:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,339
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12011295
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writedeku/pseuds/writedeku
Summary: “I don’t need telepathy to win,” is the first thing he says; nearly shouts it, to be precise. “We can play it without me being linked.”One by one, the teambonding practises stop as they all turn to Kageyama to gape.Play volleyball without telepathy?It’s not that it’s not possible, but that would put them at such a major disadvantage it’d be like having a team full of one-sided Kageyamas.They’d be brilliant, but they’d never get further than the court that they stand on.“Don’t be silly,bakageyama. It’s just a minor link,” Hinata waves his hands and laughs. “We won't even know your favourite colour.”“Then what's the point?” Kageyama turns, almost viciously, onto him.





	knock knock

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys! Thanks for clicking on this. I'd like to take the time to thank @ellehletoile for being the best beta reader ever ;; [tearing up].  
> This was actually written for a zine but i ended up going waay over word limit lololol. 
> 
> Anyways, enjoy! The only TWs in this fic is that Kageyama has an anxiety/panic attack, but Hinata helps him through it - the right way, mind you. Tired of improper anxiety attack handlings in fanfiction.

They're sitting in a circle on the floor in the gym and everything is unnaturally silent. Even the fans have been turned off for this moment; it is one of quiet reflection and introspection.

“Okay, Hinata,” Suga says, his voice warm and rich, a bit like the way a summer’s breeze feels on your skin. It's warm, inviting, and comes with a friendly pat on the walls of his mind. “Connect with me.”

Telepathy is something Hinata has always excelled in — one could say he  _ revelled  _ in it, in the intimacy and closeness it presented, in the scritch scratch of someone’s thoughts at his door. Hinata smiles and closes his eyes. 

He can feel the others around him, burning like little fires. Suga's is currently very bright, presumably because he’s unguarded. This light too feels like a summer’s day, like dreams borne of imagination and wonder, of scraping your knees in the over-bright sun. Hinata reaches out toward it, and barely has he even grazed the light before he’s treated to Suga’s current concern: 

_ I hope Hinata can hear this.  _

Hinata starts, and laughs a little. 

_ Suga-san,  _ he says, his voice friendly.  _ I can hear you very clearly! Your mind feels all…soft!  _

Suga laughs in his headspace; a feeling like melted sweets sliding over his skin. _ That didn't take long. You’re very...  _

The next few thoughts don’t come as words but as feelings; memories even. Hinata sees a flare of light beneath his eyes and the smell of citrus floods his senses. He sees an infinite expanse of ocean. 

_ You’re bright,  _ Suga breathes, and then retreats. 

HInata doesn't like the feeling of being alone; doesn't like it when no one else is in his head. He blinks open his eyes to the harsh lights of the gym and sees Suga just a few centimetres from him, grinning. 

“And you say you’ve never had to teambond before,” he laughs, and holds out a hand to help him up from the floor. “You can try with Daichi next. He’s very dependable, you shouldn’t have a problem.” 

Hinata bounds up from his seat and  _ beams  _ at him. He thinks  _ okay, Suga-san _ and gets a short, surprised laugh in return. 

“Have you memorised my wavelength?” he asks, pleased. “I was only in there for two minutes or so.” 

A wavelength of thought — a person’s unique signature, or so Hinata’s been told. Truth is, he’s never bothered to remember that code — it’s all numbers and thought and logic, and he’s always liked to understand instead. Codes are  _ annoying.  _ He hardly felt that a person could be summed up in numbers.  What  _ made _ a person was their emotions, and Suga’s wavelength was…he struggles to convey the right emotions, so he thinks again. 

He paints a picture of cherry blossoms falling from trees into drains, of koi fish swimming in circles underwater, of the sweet tang in the back of your throat as you walked under the trees. He lets Suga see a field of golden mountain flowers — there for a second and gone when you blinked. It's soft. It's sad. It's barely there. It's fast and loves hard and dies young and is beautiful and wise and revered and—

Suga comes out of it slightly dazed. “I understand,” he murmurs, and fists a hand over his heart. There are tears in his eyes, but he blinks them away hurriedly, then laughs — a short one that sounds more like a choke of tears, but Hinata knows he’s happy. “You’re very poetic,” he trails off, then takes a deep breath. “Go to Daichi,” he urges, and ruffles Hinata’s hair. "Tell him what you think.” 

Suga turns away from him and wipes the back of his hands over his eyes, then moves to sit down in front of Yamaguchi with a slightly unsteady, “Okay! You’re next. Do you know what to do?”

“Just…reach out, right?” Yamaguchi says nervously — Hinata can feel the anxiety in his little fire, like a flame about to sputter out, desperate for fuel. He turns away from this conversation to where Daichi is sitting in front of Kageyama — and neither of them look happy. 

Hinata sits down with a few inches between him and Kageyama. The setter and him still don’t like each other very much, and far more than mental walls, there are physical ones — the glare in his eyes when he looks at him, the  _ hatred  _ — it feels like he gets smacked with a shovel every time he sees it, because Hinata has never and will never take lightly to being hated — or even being mildly disliked. In fact, if it’s anything but like, it’s unlikely he'd react even slightly well to it. 

Daichi’s face is contorted in what looks like stress; and Kageyama’s face is creased so far into a scowl it looks as though it might stick. Hinata blinks at them in confusion — Daichi is apparently the easiest to match with, so he closes his eyes and expands himself and sees —

_ nothing.  _

There is  _ nothing  _ where Kageyama is, not even the normal hum of someone being alive. It’s as though he’s dead, or worse, as though he can’t use telepathy. 

Hinata has heard of people who can’t communicate with their minds; how it drags them down and turns them into unwanted members of society; how their rights were still being debated to this day. To say it’s an atrocity is an understatement, it's a right terrific mess, but Kageyama couldn't be — 

Hinata dances around the empty space where Kageyama should be — and slams into something solid. 

Kageyama exists. 

He runs his hands along the invisible wall, feeling his way along the ridges, mapping out the castle with his hands — it's huge and expansive and has no openings. He turns to Daichi instead and stretches out. 

The first thing that hits him is the smell of a lake — fresh and clean. He hears the song of a bird in the bush and turns towards it, reaching out a hand and letting the bird land in his palm — and then Daichi’s thoughts float over to him. They feel like looming mountains, not threatening in the slightest, but like wise, old sages that have seen the turn of the century and felt the rock of the earth. 

_ I can’t find Kageyama.  _

_ I can’t either,  _ Hinata runs his forefinger over the sparrow’s head and keens at the softness of it’s feathers.  _ His walls are too thick.  _

The bird in his hands pecks his palm and flies away, then Daichi’s walls are coming back up and Hinata is pushed out. He opens his eyes to see Kageyama’s hands balled into fists — he’s standing and pissed, looking for all the world like they’d just called him a fraud. 

“I don’t need telepathy to win,” is the first thing he says; nearly shouts it, to be precise. “We can play it without me being linked.” 

One by one, the teambonding practises stop as they all turn to Kageyama to gape.  _ Play volleyball without telepathy?  _ It’s not that it’s not possible, but that would put them at  _ such  _ a major disadvantage it’d be like having a team full of one-sided Kageyamas. 

They’d be brilliant, but they’d never get further than the court that they stand on. 

“Don’t be silly,  _ baka _ geyama. It’s just a minor link,” Hinata waves his hands and laughs. “We won't even know your favourite colour.” 

“Then what's the point?” Kageyama turns, almost viciously, onto him. Hinata instinctively scuttles backwards — he doesn't need to see his thoughts to know that something _bad_ is coming. “Why do I need to be linked to so many people? It’s noisy, it’s loud — there’s _no point_ if you don't listen.” 

Hinata gets defensive. He springs to his feet, but then the height difference gets in his way, so he goes onto his tiptoes. “Even Tsukishima is doing it! I don’t see your problem, you’re the  _ setter,  _ it’s your job to keep the ball connected to us!” 

“I can do that without linking!” Kageyama roars and advances upon him as though wielding a nameless authority; Hinata backs up and hits the wall with a hard  _ thud.  _ The hall is silent. 

In the back of his mind, Suga conveys a sentiment of worry. Without quite knowing why, he shushes him. “You don’t have to be so selfish all the time!” Hinata's hands ball into loose fists, but he’s shaking. “Just link with at least one person.” 

“I refuse,” Kageyama seethes, and looks as though he’s about to hit him — but then his aura fades and he slinks back from him like a rebuked cat. He turns and walks over to where the balls are stashed, dragging the court over to the net. 

Then he starts to practice his serves. 

Hinata gapes at the audacity of him, the sheer disregard Kageyama has for people — and feels anger bubble up within him like a fountain he can’t quite turn off. He’s about to say something, anything, when someone taps on his mind with a finger. 

It’s the mountains. 

Daichi shakes his head at him and Hinata rages powerlessly against his inability to do anything, but gives up and follows him back to the group. 

“You seem to be good at this,” he says warmly, trying to distract him from the tense atmosphere. “Try skipping to Tanaka.” 

Hinata nods, but the corners of his mouth are quirked down, and his heart jumps every time a ball slams on the court floor.

* * *

 

Kageyama doesn’t link with anyone. Not with Suga’s sweet presence, nor the dependable mountains of Daichi. Not even the starry sky of Yamaguchi could sway him — his fortress was impregnable and impenetrable, and no matter how many times Hinata prodded at them, the walls never yielded. 

“I can toss anything you give to me,” he finds himself saying, when Kageyama hesitates on a toss and it falls short of its mark. Hinata doesn’t quite know why he’s reassuring him — but there’s something haunting about the way he looks when the ball thuds on the floor without Hinata managing to spike it. He’s a little unsure of how to comfort someone without broadcasting his emotions, and he knows Kageyama reacts negatively to touch, so he holds out the ball and presses it firmly into his hands. 

Kageyama stares at him before curling his hands around the ball and taking it. 

“Try again,” Hinata smiles and backs up to the end of the line. “I’ll get it for sure.”

He runs again, Kageyama sets the ball — and it lands in Hinata’s palm and smacks onto the opposite court. 

He grins; a rush of pure adrenaline coursing through his veins. He tried to keep his eyes open this time but he was worried what would happen if he missed, so he did not. But even he can tell that whatever this...combo may be, it is a weapon that works. Turning to look at Kageyama, he expects to see a little smile, but the boy is staring at the net with little to no expression on his face. 

“Jump higher,” is all he says. “I’m going to set it a little more up. At this height, it would hit the blockers.” 

Hinata feels a twitch of annoyance but squashes it. He’s right. “Okay,” he says instead, and returns to his marker. 

Kageyama blinks at him as though he’s been slapped. “Okay?”

“If I need to jump higher so that we can win,” Hinata says slowly. “I will jump higher.”

They start again, backing up then running. The ball arcs through the air; Hinata is soaring above the net — and it hits his palm and slams onto the court. He tumbles to the floor, unused to the height he reached, and falls hard on his butt and back, but they  _ did it.  _

He’s afraid of looking at Kageyama, worried that his lack of reaction would squash his excitement, but it’s Kageyama that comes to him, a curious sort of expression on his face. He does not help him up; rather, he stands over him and peers at him as though he’s an interesting specimen ready to be dissected. 

“Can you manage that height every time?”

Hinata blinks at him. From this angle, he kind of looks...softer. “In the first set definitely.”

“Good,” Kageyama says, then turns away from him. “Again.”

* * *

 

Hinata’s legs are sore and trembling from stretching himself too far — jumping  _ that  _ high is okay for the first few times, but after a while it gets exhausting, and now he’s not even sure if he’d make the bicycle ride home. He collapses, exhausted, next to Noya, who takes the opportunity to slip into his thoughts and asks, “Bad day?”

Hinata huffs out a tired laugh. “I feel like I might faint,” he replies weakly, and Noya laughs in his headspace. 

Noya feels different from the others. He’s a lot more like Hinata — when he thinks of Noya he feels sand between his toes and the loud crash of the ocean on a beach. He thinks of rockpools and tiny crabs and an intense heat — almost blinding even, but with it comes a sense of excitement, as though this is what you live for — for the splash of cold from the ocean, and the burn of your sole on the hot sand. 

It grounds him, and he feels —  _ better?  _ He gapes as the trembling in his legs stop and yells when he realises what Noya is doing — he’s  _ taking  _ his fatigue, draining away from him enough so that he could have a safe ride home. 

Noya gives him two thumbs up and smiles brightly at him — and Hinata grabs onto him, bursts into tears and loudly shouts, “Noya- _ senpai!”  _

The boy bursts into laughter and ruffles his hair. “A good senpai takes care of his kouhai,” he says, very seriously, and leaps to his feet. “I have boundless energy and a short walk home! I can take your tiredness, Hinata Shouyou!”  

He turns to Hinata very seriously and points a finger at his nose. “The only condition is when you’re a second year you do the same for your kouhai! We must pass on...being kind to one another. Connecting is more than thoughts!” 

“I will!” Hinata leaps to his feet and bounces up and down. “You’re the best senpai!” 

“I know,” his voice drops several octaves and he looks off into the distance. Hinata laughs and claps his hands together, and somewhere in the back of the gym, Kageyama watches, uncomprehending, but...he finds, in his heart, a tinge of jealousy. 

He squashes it. 

He tosses up the ball. 

He slams it down. 

And in his head, his fortress gates slam shut again.

* * *

 

It’s in their first training match that his status as Non-Bonded begins to become a problem — and they can feel it in the silence that ensues after the toss Kageyama sends Tanaka falls short of its mark and hits the floor with a final thud. 

Seijoh stops playing, eyebrows raised. Issues like this don’t happen when you’re bonded — and then Tanaka, hands on his hips, says, “I thought I said Hinata would take that.” 

The silence thickens, the tension ripens. Kageyama picks up the ball and looks away from him. “You didn’t say it out loud,” he mumbles, and then everything explodes. 

Turnip Head from the other team says loudly, “you aren’t bonded?”

Hinata shouts, “you could’ve used the signals!” 

Tanaka yells, “then get linked!” 

Daichi roars and plants his feet down in the centre of the court, “Stop! Arguing!” 

The entire team quietens down. Kageyama looks away from the court and scuffs his feet on the floor. 

Hinata watches this in silence, then walks right up to Kageyama and pats him on the shoulder. “I’d take any toss you can give me,” he says again. “Let’s go.” 

Kageyama peers at him like an old man missing his glasses. “You haven’t been able to touch the ball this entire game. Why would I toss to you?”

Hinata gapes at this statement, then flings himself forward as though to throttle him — and then Daichi clamps a hand onto the back of his jersey and drags him to the back lin. 

And then… 

Hinata serves the ball into the back of Kageyama’s head. Or well — he doesn’t, but he knows that’s where it’s headed. 

He screams in his head as he sees the ball’s trajectory but it’s too fast for him to make a noise and he can’t warn Kageyama, can’t tell him that it’s going to hit him — but then Kagayama steps to the side nonchalantly and the ball hits the net.

Everyone stares. You could hear a pin drop in the gym.

Hinata takes a second to process this and then reaches out, running his out mind and finds a tiny, golden crack in the invisible space where Kageyama is. He runs his hands over it almost reverently — Hinata smells the scent of the air before a storm, that harsh, sweet, pungent smell of ozone, but then Kageyama is whirling around to face him and Hinata knows he’s detected him fiddling with the crack so he leaps backwards and the hole closes. 

“I thought you said you weren’t linked,” Coach Ukai yells at them. 

“I’m not,” Kageyama says vehemently, and Hinata dwells on the ozone and the storm and wonders  _ why not.  _

As the game wears on, their quicks start coming, and then they start coming easy, and Hinata learns how to tell what Kageyama is going for by the slant of his eyes and the position of his body — he learns that sometimes Hinata meant Tanaka and Tanaka meant  _ Daichi _ . By the end of the third set, he can tell who Kageyama is going to set to, and communicates that to the rest of the group. He’s wrong a couple of of times, but he’s never been rebuked by it, so he learns. 

Kageyama  _ smiles  _ at him midway in the third set. His tosses are spectacular. They move suddenly like a finely oiled machine, and even when Oikawa comes in with his overwhelming mental presence — like a great stone boulder in their headspace, and his powerful serves, they do not lose. 

They do not lose. 

It’s euphoric. 

Hinata isn’t really thinking about it, but he turns to Kageyama with a wide, wide smile, and finds it reflected on his face. The boy cracks, he can feel it — warm light like a sun’s rays after a storm push through and he takes a deep, shuddering breath, but doesn’t reach out for it. 

Kageyama will relax when he wants to.

* * *

 

Tanaka had bet that Kageyama would link with someone before the Interhigh, but the first match comes and goes without that happening. Tokonami is defeated — but at great cost, because it’s during an exchange that Kageyama is revealed to be unlinked and somehow it pushes him even further from the team. 

The taunts start coming from the audience — even when a block is set up, their mouths still work, and the whispers start to spread. 

_ Karasuno is unlinked.  _

_ No - their setter is unlinked.  _

_ Can their setter not bond?  _

_ Do they not like number 9?  _

_ Is he...Incapable?  _

Kageyama shoulders all this with barely a hurt glance, but Hinata  _ knows.  _ He can see it in his eyes, in the way his shoulders draw back, in the haughty way that he looks at the crowd with that  _ fire  _ in his eyes. The challenge. He knows what they’re saying, he knows they’re talking about him, knows that they now judge the ground that he walks not on his talent but his lack of telepathy. 

Even then, he doesn’t crack. 

When they’re cornered by a rival team that mocks Kageyama for being Incapable, Hinata gets  _ angry.  _ First of all, it’s not even wrong to be unable to link, it’s not their fault — and second, Kageyama just doesn’t want to. What’s the problem with that? 

He opens his mouth to rebuke them with what strength he can muster in his tiny body, but Kageyama’s eyes meet his accuser. He just  _ stares.  _ He doesn’t say anything, but his hands are clenched and Hinata knows he’s trembling. He just meets his angry words with his silent gaze, intimidating the others into backing off. 

It’s admirable. Hinata finds himself looking up to him, wanting to be him, to understand, to connect, but Kageyama does not give him any opportunity, and they do not.

* * *

 

They lose against Seijoh. Kageyama’s mind splits wide open into a dark mass of grey energy that Hinata can feel like a cloud over them. He connects with everyone but not in the right away — he poisons them with defeat and insecurity. 

Hinata bites his lip as he sees Kageyama walk in front of him, then he makes a split second decision to jump him and force his way into the grey energy and chase it away. It’s not to say that Hinata is entirely unaffected by their loss, he’s  _ devastated,  _ but he steps into Kageyama’s stormy mind and says, “Next time.” 

Kageyama’s current concern is one of unintelligible  _ pain,  _ but he welcomes Hinata with two warm hands and a streak of water that drips from the sky, and his sorrow retreats into his fortress. Hinata sees his senpais relax their shoulders. 

Hinata does not need to read his mind to understand his pain. On the way home they fall asleep on each other’s shoulders — and it’s peaceful and wonderful, until they get back into school and their pain gets in the way and the gym is a tangle of shared dark energy. 

It is Tsukishima who pushes Kageyama — he says, with a bored tone to his voice _ ,  _ “We might’ve won if you just bloody linked with someone,” he rolls his eyes and shrugs his shoulders. “But I guess you don’t care about your team.” 

Kageyama does not look at him. He bites his lip and looks away. 

“Stop it,” Daichi scolds, and folds his arms across his chest. “We lost because we weren’t the stronger team on the court. But we won’t lose again.  Not in the Spring High.” 

“But you can’t deny being linked would’ve helped,” Tsukishima continues to drawl. “Don’t you think we won’t stand a chance against teams like Shiratorizawa if our  _ setter _ , who needs to connect with us, continues to act on his own?”

Kageyama trembles. 

Hinata opens his mouth — 

— but not early enough, because Kageyama fists his hands over his ears and yells, heart-breaking and painful, and the world that they see is whisked away into a memory. 

_ Kageyama tosses the ball. It misses.  _

_ “Move faster,” he seethes. “Jump higher. Win.” _

_ He tosses again — and it thunks against the floor.  _

_ Where are you guys? He asks, telepathically — and no one replies. He reaches out with his mind and finds — no one.  _

_ His own team has turned their walls against him. They’ve shut him out, and suddenly, for the first time in his entire volleyball career, he is completely, and utterly, alone.  _

_ The silence is deafening, it’s burdening, he sinks to his knees and hears his own heartbeat in his ears. “Everyone?” he asks, out loud, his voice hoarse — and then he’s benched.  _

_ He’s benched.  _

_ He watches the game go on, and finds that even if he reaches out to the others on the bench, they do not reply.  _

_ If he reaches out to his classmates in his school, they do not let him in.  _

_ He’s alone. He’s so, incredibly, alone.  _

_ If that‘s how it’s going to be, then Kageyama would make it so that no one could reach in. No one could see. No one could ever leave him alone like that again, no one would talk in his head, no one would not listen, no one would…  _

Hinata snaps out of it; rubbing his eyes and glancing worriedly over at Kageyama, who is shaking and gasping in the corner.

Suga says, “Kageyama —” but the boy bolts, throwing open the gym doors and bursting out into the night air. 

Hinata doesn’t even hesitate before he’s running after him.

* * *

 

He finds Kageyama in the men’s restroom, bent over a sink, heaving. 

“Kageyama,” he breathes, and reaches out for him, but he flinches away and his back hits the wall hard, his breath coming in short, sporadic bursts. His eyes are wide. His face is pale and he clutches a hand over his heart and gasps. 

“I can’t — Hinata I can’t breathe,” he whispers, and his breaths quicken. “I can’t breathe Hinata Hinata  _ Hinata  _ —” 

Hinata grabs his hand and Kageyama blinks at him, his other hand still clenched over his heart. He guides Kageyama to the floor, where they sit crosslegged, and Hinata places his hand over his chest and says, “With me,  _ Tobio.  _ In,” he takes a deep breath. “Out,” and he lets it go. Kageyama’s eyes widen and his hair is plastered to his face with sweat. “Come on, stick with me. In...out.” 

When he’s satisfied he’s trying his best to follow, Hinata pushes his knees up and makes him put his head between his knees, and rubs soothing circles onto his back. “I’m gonna tell you a story,” he says, and Kageyama huffs. “So I was home alone with Natsu-chan, right, and I’m watching some show on the TV about some soccer boy thing,” 

Kageyama draws in a shuddering breath. “And then?”

“Right! So, I’m watching this  _ bad  _ show, it was so bad, Kageyama, I don’t even know how to tell you how bad it was, anyway, so Natsu-chan is drinking orange juice, right, and then the show says to  _ drop everything  _ and she drops her orange juice all over the floor and spits the juice out of her mouth!” 

Kageyama huffs out a small laugh. “Did she?”

“It was  _ insane!  _ How could she have known?! And I had to clean it up too! Hey, Kageyama, you should come over sometime. Natsu-chan wants to meet you —” 

“You talk about me at home?” Kageyama’s breathing seems to have evened out. Hinata starts, and then blushes. 

“Of course. We’re friends, right?”

“I guess,” he trails off, then sits back upright and looks at Hinata very intensely. “You all saw that, right?”

“We did,” Hinata says, just as seriously. "Can I touch you?"

Kageyaa's eyes slide away from him, but he nods. 

Hinata reaches out his arms and winds it around Kageyama’s neck. There's a slight pause before he says, “But listen. It doesn’t matter if your previous schoolmates were meanies _.  _ You know we’re not like that. Just — will you — try?”

Kageyama places his hands lightly on Hinata’s back. “I...don’t know.”

“Don’t rush yourself,” he mumbles. “Just understand. We’re Karasuno now.”

He wonders how Noya-san did it, how he reached through his mind and — oh. He finds it now, now that his mind is wide open and his fortress in pieces, and he stands on the edge of his wall and...pulls a thread of sorrow out. He stares at the wisp and watches it dissipate, then reaches for other threads — threads of pain and tiredness. He wraps them around his fist, letting it seep into his skin. 

Kageyama stiffens. “What are you doing?”

“I’m making you feel better,” Hinata says softly. “Don’t worry,” and he pulls out another thread. He’s careful of his limits and knows that even with this he’ll be exceptionally sore tomorrow, but the way Kageyama’s shoulders relax make it all the more worthwhile. 

“Did you know that Suga-san feels like sakuras?”

“Does he?”

“And Daichi-san feels like Fuji-san. Asahi-san is like the sky, and Noya-san like the ocean,” he sighs softly. 

“The others?”

“What?”

“What do the others feel like?” his voice sounds a little...wistful. Hinata hurries to oblige. 

“Tanaka-san is the sound of a car engine! Tsukishima kind of feels like reading a book under the covers. Yamaguchi is like the stars! Ennoshita-san reminds me of a plant growing out of the ground. Kinoshita-san is like...walking through bamboo, and Narita-san feels like wind on your face.”

“What about me?” Kageyama mumbles, and his ears turn red. “What do you think I feel like?”

Hinata blushes and is grateful for the hug that hides his expression. “You — uh…” he takes a deep breath. “You remind me of what it feels like when a storm is coming and after it’s gone.” 

Kageyama holds him tighter. It takes a while, but then he mumbles, “You...feel like watermelon on a hot day,” a thoughtful pause. “And barbecue after a day’s work.” 

Hinata starts, and blushes even more. “ _ Baka _ geyama,” he says, and thumps him on the back. “You can’t just say something like that.” 

“I can’t?” he mumbles, and they stay like that for as long as they can, before Suga is knocking on the door outside and asking if they’re alright.

Karasuno holds no judgement when they return. Tanaka slaps his back. Daichi pats his head. Noya gives him a hug, and perhaps it’s then that Kageyama learns — being connected is a lot more than telepathy. 

Maybe it’s also about being friends.

* * *

 

The Spring High arrives, but Kageyama still has not linked with anyone. It’s not a problem, never is and never would be, but he’s been cracking more often — letting Hinata wander in when they both arrive early for club. They don’t say anything, they just enjoy the feel of each other. The cold breeze on Hinata’s face, the sticky dribble of melting ice cream on Kageyama’s hands. 

Hinata relishes in the fact that he’s the only one allowed in like this, and even when they fought — when they lashed at each other and kicked and threw one another around — there was something in Hinata that knew despite the silence, if he came to Kageyama after practice with a wandering mind, he would be received. 

But it was when they’d landed their quick against Fukuroudani — that was when everything changed. Suddenly Kageyama seeked him out, dancing into his headspace and overwhelming him with gladness and triumph and memories of sore hands and frustration. Hinata had reached out just as gladly and now — now when Hinata looks at him, in the quiet of the bus, his eyes fall to the slope of his jaw and the rise and fall of his chest as he sleeps, and something fierce burns within him. 

He can’t quite pin it down, but can’t let it bother him because of today. Today, they face Oikawa.

* * *

 

In the moments leading up to the match, Kageyama comes to them and says without any build up or preamble, “I’m going to link with Hinata.”

The words — well, they have the anticipated effect. Hinata yelps, Suga gasps, Daichi swears and drops his bottle. Tsukishima scoffs. Yamaguchi’s mouth falls open. Tanaka yells, Asahi blinks, smiles patiently, and Noya screams, “Is this love?!”

Coach Ukai shushes them with a finger to his lips and a glare. “Only Hinata?”

“It’s...noisy, if there’s more than one,” Kageyama rubs the back of his head. “And…”

“And you’re comfortable with Hinata,” Suga supplies, then smiles. “Of course. Hinata —”

Hinata still has his mouth open, but at Kageyama’s bashful expression, his surprise dies down. He supposes this was a long time coming. Reaching out without warning, he expects Kageyama to resist him, but he accepts him with open arms — he doesn’t even need to fight his way through. He falls into his light like he’s sliding into a pool of warm water and when they form the link — it feels deeper than the others he has. He feels constantly aware of it, like it’s a low, pleasant strumming in the back of his mind. 

_ So how does it feel like?  _ Noya asks in his head. 

_ Like...warmth,  _ Hinata replies, and Noya hums.

* * *

 

Their link never wavers once. Kageyama thinks  _ Hinata  _ and that’s all he needs to know. He leaps and dodges and bolts and spikes — they miss their mark and they hit it and Hinata can feel his unguarded frustration and unadulterated pride —  _ pride _ , there’s pride, not for himself but for Hinata when he lands after a spike — it’s a feeling that rips through him and sets him hollow and heaving but undeniably pleased.

But it’s when they win that’s amazing — when Hinata’s spike goes true and Oikawa’s petrified face freezes when the sound of the ball registers — that he gets what he’s been yearning for. 

The feeling of  _ victory.  _

Kageyama floods him, quite literally, with emotions and Hinata nearly falls over as he deciphers them. There’s the metallic feeling of victory and the sting of guilt and the addictive feeling of satisfaction — but there’s also the tidal wave that is admiration and the teetering tower of  _ love.  _

_ Love.  _

Kageyama reaches out for Hinata with  _ love  _ in his hands and Hinata grabs onto him physically, holding onto his shirt while gasping and crying. Dimly, he’s aware that someone says, “Don’t be so dramatic. We have to beat Shiratorizawa,” but he can’t bring himself to care because Kageyama is holding onto him and pressing their foreheads together. 

It’s the culmination of everything they’ve been through together. Revenge. Closure. Admiration. The sickly sweet scent of love. Hinata gives as good as he gets, he practically shoves all the love he has for Kageyama his way like a waterfall — all the times he’d watched the light move over his back and taken stolen glances in the locker room, all the times he’s wanted to touch him and be with him and link with him, the surprise he felt when it was offered. Now, he doesn’t even know why he doubted it. 

In the bright darkness of their headspace, Hinata presses his hands to Kageyama’s, and they connect. 

It’s as simple as that.

* * *

 

They’ve entered their first time out against Shiratorizawa, and everyone is tense. Hinata has one elbow touching Kageyama’s for reassurance, as though he’s an anchor, while Coach Ukai is trying to tell them something important but he can’t focus — his stomach is buzzing. 

Kageyama is watching the proceedings with a frown on his face, and then he says, “I need to link to the six on the court,” and he turns to them with a serious expression. “Hinata. Can you act as a bridge?”

Hinata is not surprised. He nods seriously and says, “I can.”

Kageyama is obviously unused to the noise in his head and it affects him, tiring him out and making him slightly sluggish, so they take him aside — much to his chagrin — and push Suga out onto the field. 

_ Knock knock,  _ Hinata says in his mind.

Kageyama startles.  _ What the — Hinata — who’s there?  _

_ Guess who.  _

A frown crosses his face.  _ That’s not how knock knock jokes work, dumbass.  _

_ Really?  _ Hinata laughs.  _ It’s too hard for me to focus on this too, Kageyama. I just wanted you to know that even though you’re on the bench —  _

A flurry of emotions. Adrenaline. Bones aching. Pain. In real life, Hinata leaps from the ground and soars through the hair, his hand clapping on the ball and sending it hurtling to the ground. 

_ Sorry. You’re there,  _ Hinata pants.  _ But you’re not alone. I’m here! You know? We’re all here.  _

Kageyama can’t help it. He finds himself tearing up and hastily wipes it away with the back of his hand.  _ It’s sweat,  _ he tells himself, but he knows.

* * *

 

They dance around each other for two months before Hinata gets tired of it and corners him before club after school with a loud, “Go out with me!”

It wasn’t even necessary, could’ve asked him in his head — that’s the norm, after all. But it seemed that every time Hinata approached the subject telepathically he ended up degenerating into a puddle of emotions so dense neither of them could make heads or heels of it. 

So this is where they end up. 

A panicked shout in a courtyard. Heads turning their way. The whisperings of high school students fill his ears and the air, turning it stale and stagnant. 

“Okay,” Kageyama replies easily, because even though he’s in public and he’s uncomfortable, there has never been anything but  _ yes  _ on his tongue. 

They go to club grinning and holding hands. Tsukishima pays Yamaguchi six hundred yen. All is well.

* * *

They only kiss two weeks later, after training in the twilight of evening. Kageyama leans in as Hinata is about to cycle away and catches his lips with the tenderness of affection. The unexpected gesture has Hinata’s eyes shooting wide and his body tensing up, but Kageyama’s lips are warm and slightly chapped. He tastes like his yoghurt drink. He smells like the school’s shampoo.

Hinata moves his hand up and runs it through the soft black hair, lets it fall through his fingers. When they part, he gives him a toothy smile. “I expect more of those,  _ baka _ geyama,” he laughs, and Kageyama scuffs his feet on the floor, rolling his eyes. 

Their connection, however, tells Hinata he’s pleased. 

“Only when you deserve it,” Kageyama mutters and turns away, but a hand lands on his shoulder, pulling him back down for another kiss. 

“I always deserve it,” Hinata says seriously, even as he smacks him on the head with his palm. 

He shoots him a look and laughs; Kageyama joins in with a small chuckle and a wave of his hand. “See you tomorrow.”

Hinata waves goodbye at his retreating figure. Kageyama only looks back thrice. On the third time Hinata laughs, swings a leg over his bicycle and pedals to him. 

“You can just say you want to spend more time with me,” he smiles when he pulls up and, sitting on his bicycle, he just manages to reach Kageyama’s cheek and presses a soft, barely there kiss — like butterfly wings brushing past him.

Kageyama turns as red as the setting sun, and covers his face in his hands. “I don’t,” he says, but holds on tightly to his hand. Hinata ends up spending the night, and after Hinata falls asleep Kageyama plants a kiss on the slant of his jaw and breathes, “ _ Thank you.”  _

Hinata stirs, but does not awaken. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Please leave a comment or a kudos if you enjoyed this.


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